


You High Sticked My Heart

by Burning_Up_A_Sun



Category: Cabin Pressure, Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Crossovers & Fandom Fusions, F/M, Flying from Boston to Tampa, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, MJN Air, The Frozen Four, samwell men's hockey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-27 22:19:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 6,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6302488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Burning_Up_A_Sun/pseuds/Burning_Up_A_Sun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Samwell Men's Ice Hockey team need to get to the Frozen 4, and who better than MJN Air, a charter airline with only one plane. Not an airline. An airdot. And they're always looking for their next booking.</p><p>Shenanigans and Hijinks ensue. And hopefully a mile-high scene.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Boston

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [MJN March Merriment](http://mjnsmarchmerriment.tumblr.com/) on Tumblr. There are 9 days of prompts that I'm going to try to turn into one fic. Wish me luck.
> 
> If you're not familiar with Ngozi's [Check Please](http://omgcheckplease.tumblr.com/) go read it now. 
> 
> Yes, I know the Frozen Four is in Tampa in 2016, not 2014 (but the flight to Philadelphia is too short for any good hijinks). 
> 
> In the words of Johnson, the Metaphysical Goalie, Just roll with it.

“Now that Martin’s been sprung from the hoosegow. The clink. The big house…” 

“Douglas…”

“The joint. The pen…”

“Douglas.” 

“Club Fed…”

“That is quite enough.” Carolyn clapped her hand over Douglas’ mouth, hoping that it would stop him and afraid all she’d get would be a wet palm.

Arthur burst into the flight deck., the door squeaking closed behind him. “Mr. Shitty.”

With grace and elegance, Douglas removed Carolyn’s hand, absolutely slathering her palm with his spit. “Mr. Shitty is not slang for jail, Arthur.”

“No. What? No. Mr. Shitty is here. With his team. They're looking for you. And they’re quite loud.” Arthur opened the door to the cabin, now filled with 14 large college boys and 2 older men and making as much noise as an arena filled to capacity.

“Do nothing.” Carolyn pointed in Arthur’s face. “Let me speak with Mr.—”

“Shitty.” Arthur supplied. “He said, Brah. You’re the flight attendant. I support you breaking down gender stereotypes. And then he pressed his fist to mine.” Arthur’s eyes darted from his mother to Douglas. “I don’t know what that means.”

“Put on a pot of coffee and chill more beer. It’s going to be a long three hours to Tampa.” 

“Tampa? Why are we flying to Tampa?” Late, Martin raced into the flight deck grasping his hat in one black and blue hand and straightened his tie with the other. “We are supposed to fly from Boston to Fitton tonight.”

“We’ve picked up a last minute booking. We shall be flying this men’s college hockey team to something called The Frozen Four in Tampa. We will stop long enough to drop them, wish them good skating, and then will wing our way back to Fitton.” Carolyn checked her watch. “Now shut up and get ready to fly.” Carolyn followed Arthur into the cabin, looking for whomever was in charge of this disaster waiting to take wing.

Martin’s mouth opened and closed without speaking. With a sigh, he removed his jacket and attempted to arrange it on the hanger, using only one hand.

Douglas raised one eyebrow, taking in Martin’s appearance. “How did the police spring a hardened criminal such as yourself? Did you sing like a stool pigeon?”

Martin’s face blanched. “Did they tell you? They didn’t tell you. They said it would be absolutely anonymous.”

“Oh, Martin.” Douglas sighed as he settled into the co-pilot seat to begin the pre-flight routine. “You didn’t.”

Martin transferred his hat from his right hand to his left, gingerly placing it on his head. 

“Does it have something to do with your right hand, that you’re suspiciously not using?” Douglas craned his neck to see Martin’s side. “Goodness, Captain. Did your cellmate not appreciate your personality? Your wit? Your joie de vivre?” 

Martin cradled his hand. “He didn’t appreciate my choosing a bench. Either bench.” He sat in the pilot’s seat and reached for the preflight checklist. “Apparently, they both belonged to him.”

~*~

Carolyn stared at the 14 boys before giving up and just called over the noise, “Who’s Mr. Shitty.”

She waited for a young man to disentangle himself from some ritual male bonding hug. Long hair, mustache, and a suspicious sweet smell surrounding him. 

“I’ll have none of that on my plane.” Carolyn wagged her finger in his face. “And not in the loo. We’ll know.”

The man held both hands up in surrender. “Brah. Rules are rules. You set ‘em, we’ll follow ‘em.”

Carolyn nodded curtly. She sincerely doubted this child had followed one rule in his life. 

Shitty took in Carolyn’s appearance. “Lardo.”

Carolyn’s jaw dropped. “Who are you calling…listen, you hippie—”

A young woman jumped on Shitty’s back, taking him down with a half-nelson. 

“Cut it out, Lardo.” Shitty said between cackles as Lardon’s wrestling hold turned to tickles. “This lady is the flight attendant.” 

Lardo fist bumped Carolyn, who’d been left completely confused by the entire conversation but noticed the smell of marijuana surrounding this—Lardo, also. “Props to the owner for his or her commitment to breaking down ageism and gender barriers.”

“Thank you.” Carolyn looked to someone, anyone, who could translate what these stoners said. “I think. Are you in charge?”

Before Shitty or Lardo could say another word, a young, blond man stepped forward. “Ma’am, the coaches and our captain are helpin’ load the rest of our equipment.”

She nodded, praying silently that she wouldn’t regret this booking. 

“Don’t worry.” Another young man sidled up to her. “I’m Johnson. The goalie. You’ll just have to roll with it. You’re part of the narrative now, a plot device to help unravel the atypical romance that underlies the overarching story.”

Carolyn stared at the young man who moved away as silently as he arrived. She shook her head. No one needed buns for tea badly enough to deal with this.


	2. Welcome in Terms of Hockey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Douglas tricks Martin into looking silly. It isn't difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> playing fast and loose with canon for both CPs. Forgive me. :D
> 
> A flipping HUGE THANK YOU to goneagainstthegrain from Tumblr who came  
> Home from work after midnight and translated my bad French into beautiful Québécois.

“Martin—”

“Oh, God. I know that tone of voice.” Martin turned his seat toward Douglas, searching his face for a hint of what he'd planned. “What are you up to?”

“Me? Nothing. I was just thinking that—” Douglas put down the clipboard with the passenger manifest. “—I know how proud you are of being captain, and since these boys play ice hockey, if you pretended you were from Canada, they would be even more impressed. You know, because of how much Canadians love their hockey.”

Martin frowned and turned away. _This had to be a trick. Had to be_. But, maybe Douglas had a point.

“I see what you mean, Douglas. I think you’re right.” Martin nodded, deep in thought. “If I get the chance to speak with them, I will.”

“Brilliant.” Douglas grinned. “Today for our welcome speech, what say we use hockey terminology in honor of our passengers. Shall we see how many we can fit in?”

Paying no attention to Douglas, Martin grabbed a pen and flipped over his flight notes, furiously writing as many terms as he could list. Douglas picked up the microphone and with a bing-bong, began the cabin address.

“Hallo. My name is First Officer Douglas Richardson. A warm welcome about this MJN flight. Our Captain, who is French-Canadian, will be providing your formal welcome today. Captain Martin duCref.”

Wide-eyed and slack jawed, Martin stared at Douglas. Or he would have if his brain hadn't short-circuited when he heard what Douglas said on the PA.

“Captain? They’re waiting.” Douglas grinned, his face calm and innocent.

“I hate you,” Martin hissed, and he grabbed the microphone from Douglas’ hand. “Really, really hate.”

With a deep breath, Martin affected his best French accent. “Par-don mah broken Ang-lish. I do not speak the good Anglish—”

Douglas couldn’t take Martin’s appalling accent and cut in. “Merci, Captain duCref, for that welcome. During our three-hour flight from Boston to Tampa Bay, you will be able to see beautiful countryside, including that of New Jersey. Our goal is to provide excellent service, and you won’t need a net to catch our flight attendants' attention. Your pursers today, Carolyn and Arthur, will check on you and will assist you with anything you may need. Once we’re aloft, no need to stick to your seating, but we do ask that you not clear the benches, as we call it. We hope you have a relaxing flight and compliments will be the icing on the cake. As they say, Let’s skate!”  
Douglas turned off the microphone and beamed at Martin. “I very nearly snuck ten in there.”

As they taxied for take-off, Martin’s eyes were focused on the runway. “I still hate you.”

“Don’t be angry. It was just a harmless prank.” Douglas chuckled as he resisted slapping Martin on the back.

~*~

“That was strange.” Jack squirmed in his seat, irritated by trying to fit his long legs in the short space between their row and the seats in front of them. And the stationary arm rest. And the seat that didn’t recline.

“Which part?” Bitty relaxed in his aisle seat, legs stretched in front of him. “That French accent or that someone jammed that many hockey words in?”

Jack stopped fidgeting. Closed his eyes. Opened his eyes. Repositioned himself. With a huff he said, “Mon Dieu. Bittle, change seats.” He popped out of his seat and towered over Bitty.

“I wondered how long it was going to take y’all to figure it out.” Bitty grinned. “As soon as we can unbuckle, I’ll change with you.” He draped his left hand over the armrest and stroked Jack’s arm, small circles at his wrist.

Jack’s racing thoughts slowed—no, stopped—the moment Eric touched him. He felt warmed from the movement of the soft pads of Bitty's fingers and synchronized his breathing with Bitty’s until he was back under control. He threaded their fingers together and squeezed a thank you.

Carolyn watched the boys wriggle in their seats, climb from one chair to another, and generally ignore every passenger safety rule. She drew herself up to her full height of 5’0 and roared (without help from the Tannoy), “Gentlemen. Sit. Down.”

And they did.

Afraid of being yelled at again, Ransom sat immediately. On Holster’s lap.

“I’m not that kind of boy,” Holster chirped. “Get your own seat or buy me dinner first.”

Ransom popped out of Holster’s lap and into the empty seat next to him, knowing the blush was creeping up his neck.

“Thank you.” Carolyn’s voice softened. A bit. “Allow me to add my own welcome to that torrential downpour of drivel from the flight deck. Once we have turned off the seat belt sign, Arthur will be around to serve drinks.”

Fourteen voices rose in cheer.

Carolyn cleared her throat. “Non-alcoholic drinks.”

_Booooooo._

“Take it up with your coaches.” Carolyn cracked a smile. She liked these boys. They had life in them.

~*~

“You okay, sweetheart?” Bitty asked, once they were in the air and the others were out of their seats. He looked at Jack, who’d reclined his seat and closed his eyes. Bitty recognized the rhythmic breathing that he used to hold off anxiety. “Why don’t you walk around? Maybe get a bottle of water?”

Jack nodded. “I think I’ll go talk to the Captain. Maybe he knows my father.” With a smile, he kissed the back of Bitty’s hand and left for the flight deck.

~*~

The knock on the flight deck door startled Martin. Strictly speaking, it was against regulations to allow non-crew into the flight deck, but these boys were probably harmless.

As Martin rose from his seat, Douglas smiled and said, “Remember, Captain. You’re Canadian.”

“Really, really hate you.”

Martin opened the door to a tall man, much taller than Martin himself. Dark hair. Chiseled jaw. Stunning. He pulled his eyes away from the player. “Um, ‘allo?”

With a smile, the man said, “Bonjour Monsieur le capitaine.”

Martin stuttered out “Bonjour,” and with a sick feeling in his stomach, knew— _just knew_ —Douglas was behind this, too.

"Hé capitaine! J'ne savais pas que t'étais québécois! C'est bien de rencontrer quelqu'un de chez nous." The chin spoke in rapid fire French as Martin gaped, lost.

Douglas turned his seat toward the door. “Mr. Zimmermann, I presume? You’ll have to excuse Captain duCref. He does so become tongue-tied in the presence of a celebrity.”

Jack backed away from the door and decided it was just safer to be with the team. As frightening as that was.

Martin whirled around, his face pale except for the red spots high on his cheekbones. “You knew. You. Knew.”

Douglas shrugged. “I didn’t really. But I saw Jack Zimmermann’s name on the passenger manifest, and thought he might be related to Bad Bob Zimmermann, one of the all-time greatest professional hockey players.”

Martin slumped into his seat and buried his face in his hands.

Once, just once, it would be great to beat Douglas Richardson.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the terms were jersey, goal, net, check, assist, stick, bench, icing, skate. 
> 
> I know. I am so ashamed.
> 
>  The Québécois is ""Hey captain! I didn't know you were Québécois! it's nice to someone from back home."


	3. Kissing, Dancing, Munchies, Soda

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to serve drinks but some people are much busier than others in the dark cabin. Then, Douglas convinces Martin to play Passenger Derby.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of the prompts was "pick a moment from series 2." I chose Passenger Derby from Gdansk. 
> 
> Any similarities in words/phrases to John Finnemore is just me pandering :D

The team settled in the dimly-lit cabin. Most of the Wellies rested or spoke quietly with their seatmate. Hopped up on caffeine and chocolate, Ransom studied for his Biology midterm while Holster slept on his shoulder. Instead of being jarred by Ransom’s panic and caffeine shaking, Holster felt oddly soothed. Lardo and Shitty had their heads together, quietly laughing at nothing. Jack appeared deep in discussion with Bitty.

Arthur navigated the narrow aisle with his drinks trolley. Mum made sure he knew to begin with the team captain. He stopped next to the man, whose back was turned toward the aisle. Arthur cleared his throat. When that didn’t get the captain’s attention, he said, "Sir, would yourself allow myself to interest you in partaking of a beverage this evening?"

The captain didn't move or make a sound. Well. Strictly speaking, that wasn't true. Arthur swore he heard a small moan.

Perhaps the captain was in distress. Or not. Arthur bit his lips as he thought it through. _If someone were in the midst of a conversation, Mum says I shouldn’t interrupt. But my job is to offer drinks. But I shouldn’t bother them. But it’s my job to bother them._

Arthur leaned down and there it was again. The low moan this time followed by a giggle. Well, a giggle couldn’t mean trouble, could it? So, ask.

“Good evening, sir. Would yourself like myself to pour you a soda or a fizzy water?”

The captain groaned (not a moan this time. Definitely a groan), and turned to Arthur. “No.”

Arthur observed the man’s swollen lips and his pupils, enlarge in his pale blue eyes; he grabbed the man’s chin, his voice rising with each word. “Sir, are you having an allergic reaction? Did you eat something with strawberries? Are you swelling up? Epi pen! We have an Epi pen. Mum makes me keep one—”

Gently, Jack reached up and removed his chin from Arthur’s hand. “No allergies. No allergy attack. No drinks.  ** _Busy_**.”

The young man sitting next to the captain leaned forward enough to see Arthur. “Bless your heart. Your timing is just a bit off. We’re fine right now.” He shoo’d Arthur away with a giggle.

Arthur grumbled. If people weren’t in distress, they shouldn’t make sounds like that.

~*~

“Martin—”

“Oh, God. Not again.” Martin turned his back on Douglas. He wouldn’t get caught up in one of the hare-brained schemes. “I’m not listening.”

Douglas picked up the intercom phone that connected the flight deck to the galley. “Arthur, how many times have you been around with the drinks trolley?”

Douglas held the phone away from his ear so Martin could also hear. “Twice so far, and Mum has been in the loo for the last 30 minutes. I’ve heard several people complaining that they had to use the facility.”

“Excellent. I’d say the conditions are perfect for—”

Arthur interrupted with a shout. “Passenger Derby.”

Douglas pressed the button to turn on the Engage Seatbelts sign while they set up the game.

Martin’s shoulders drooped. Another scheme. “Who picks first?”

“You pick first, Martin. You’ve had such a difficult day.” Douglas sounded so kind. So considerate.

Martin was legitimately frightened.

He considered the passengers he’d seen. “There’s a tiny blond boy. I saw him dancing to his iPod as he walked to the plane. I’ll choose him.”

“Dancing man. Got it. And what about you, Douglas?” Arthur asked.

Douglas pursed his lips as he thought. “Who looks keenest to need the loo?”

“There’s one girl. She said she has the munchies, and threatened to take me down if I didn’t give her the entire can of Diet Coke. She did that three times.”

“What about the twitchy bloke with his nose in the text book?” Douglas asked, biting his lip.

“Ah. He came in with a can of Coke, and I’ve given him at least two full cans.” Arthur lowered his voice, even though there was no chance the players could hear him. “He’s been wriggling in his seat, but I don’t know if it’s the loo or the caffeine.”

“Either way,” Douglas said. “I’ll take Soda man.”

Martin whined loud enough for Arthur to hear through the intercom. “That’s not fair. You had prior knowledge.”

Douglas laughed. “So did you, my friend. You saw your Dancing man ahead of time. What about you, Arthur? Who do you choose?”

“I’ll take Munchies. She’s scary. And mean. Scary mean.” Arthur’s voice mixed fear and awe.

Still on the employee intercom, Arthur peeked out of the galley door. When Carolyn exited the loo, Arthur signaled Douglas, who turned off the seatbelt sign.

“They’re off. Dancing has a window seat, so he has to climb over the man with the chin. Munchies is in the row behind, but she poured herself into the aisle; it’s like she has no bones. Soda is trying to get his friend to let go—the friend fell asleep and wrapped himself around Soda. They’re all up and navigating the teammates in the aisles. There’s a nasty hipcheck from Munchies as she lunges forward. Soda is stymied by a teammate who stood up, but Soda shouts _**out of the way, Johnson**_ , and picks up the teammate and moves him. In third, but not far back is Dancing, who leapt over three passengers inexplicably sitting in the aisle now. They’re neck and neck, neck and neck and with a final, vicious grab, Dancing pulls Munchies away in a beautiful death spiral. Oh that would have been a 10 had he not let her go so he could grab the loo door from Soda. Soda and Munchies never had a chance. It’s Dancing in the loo. Dancing wins Passenger Derby.”

“Congratulations, Martin.” Douglas reached out to shake hands.

“I won?”

Douglas nodded and shrugged. “It was bound to happen once.”

Martin jumped from his seat and enthusiastically shook Douglas’ hand. With a howl of pain, Martin remembered too late—that was the hand he’d hurt that afternoon in jail.

Even when he won, he still lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shhh. I switched Martin's hurt hand to his right. Poor Martin. I hate hurting him. :D


	4. You're Always Playing Yellow Car

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jack and Bitty entertain themselves in the dark cabin, under blankets, while Bitty explains Yellow Car.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just 800 words of PWP. I ain't even sorry. 
> 
> And Bitty will never be able to play Yellow Car again w/out turning 10 shades of red.
> 
> Again, any similarity to John Finnemore is on purpose because of reasons.

“Steward.”

“No. Arthur,” Arthur corrected kindly as he stepped over the soda pong game taking place in the aisle, not even wondering where they’d gotten the bouncy ball or red Solo cups. “My name isn’t Stewart.”

Jack tilted his head and stared. “You’re a steward.”

“No, I’m an Arthur. You really are quite confused.” Arthur shook his head. _Uni boys_.

“Sir, may I have a blanket? Two would be better.” Bitty smiled his perkiest, most Southern smile. The kind designed to make the receiver feel vaguely ridiculous.

Arthur returned with two scratchy, well-worn blankets. “Next time, if yourselves need something from myself, please do not hesitate to ask myself for help.”

“But I did try—” Jack threw his hands up in the air, but Bitty squeezed his thigh.

“Thank you so much,” Bitty answered, cutting off Jack’s exasperation.

They cuddled as close as they could, given that the broken armrest divided them, and Bitty spread the blankets over their laps.

“I like bus trips better.” Jack slid down until he could whisper into Bitty’s ear. “Longer trips with more privacy.”

Bitty tensed in anticipation, Jack’s warm breath tickling his ear. If he moved a smidge closer, Jack might trace the shell of his ear with his tongue or nip his neck. Bitty’s cock jumped at the thought, and he surreptitiously pressed his palm against his trousers.

Jack smiled; if he could read Bitty’s mind, it couldn’t be any clearer. He slid his hand under the blanket until it rested atop Bitty’s and pressed down. “Can I do that for you?” His voice was thick, his accent more lyrically French as he lost himself in Bitty.

In answer, Bitty kissed him, a long, soft, slow slide of lips. Since most of their teammates didn’t know they were together, they needed to be cautious. Otherwise, they’d forget themselves and strip naked with the heat of need.

With his left hand, Jack flicked the button open on Bitty’s trousers and dragged down the zipper. “Mmm?”

Bitty stuttered a nod as his cock pressed against the nylon of his bikini briefs.

Jack’s hand slipped beneath the waistband. Bitty’s breath hitched as the long fingers, rough from the cold, wrapped gently around his cock. Jack whispered, “You have to be quiet. Can you do that, _mon cher_?”

Bitty held his breath and nodded. Anything. Anything so Jack wouldn’t take his hand back.

Jack brought his lips close to Bitty’s ear. “Tell me something we’ll do when I come to visit.”

Bitty closed his eyes, overwhelmed by the warmth of Jack’s hand and the slide of his thumb over Bitty’s slit, already wet with pre-come.

“Tell me.”

Thought. Words. Mouth. None of them worked. With effort, Bitty said, “We’ll play Yellow Car.”

“What’s that?” Jack nosed at the long, pale stretch of Bitty’s neck.

Jack twisted his wrist and drew the wetness over his palm, easing the up and down slide.

Bitty’s body was on fire. The heat of the blanket. The heat of Jack’s touch. The heat of the electricity pooling between his legs.

“When we’re driving, if you see a yellow car, you say, yellow car.”

Drag. Twist.

Stop.

“What kind of game is that?”

Please don’t stop touching me, Bitty thought. Or he might have said it aloud.

“Yellow car. You’ve got to say yellow car when you see a yellow car. It’s the law.”

“Why?”

“Because that’s how you play Yellow Car.”

“But—but how does it end?” Jack’s hand dipped lower to cup Eric’s balls and squeeze lightly before stroking back up.

Bitty’s breath shuddered. “It never ends. You’re always playing Yellow Car.”

Jack sped up the pull of his hand and kissed Bitty again, forgetting he meant to be private. “I like my game better.”

Bitty nodded, pressing his lips together. If he opened his mouth, every person on the plane would know their secret.

“I touch you until you come. It’s a good game.” Jack’s breathing was ragged.

Bitty snapped his hips up, fucking into Jack’s fist. Too fast, too soon. He pressed up and spilled over Jack’s fist, spattering the inside of his underwear.

 _Crisse_ was all Jack could manage.

Bitty pressed back against the seat, panting quietly as he tried to recover. “Can I—uh—”

Jack kissed him, one small, gentle kiss. “I—um—I’m good.”

Bitty opened his eyes and saw Jack’s shy, embarrassed smile. With his own knowing smile, Bitty said, “So, yeah. Yellow Car. It’s a thing.”

“Sounds like fun.” Jack raised an eyebrow, knowing Bitty wasn’t talking about cars at all. “I’m up for that.”


	5. Would You Not Like a Go on the Tannoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lardo tricks Ransom and Holster. It wasn't difficult.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A Tannoy is the loudspeaker system they use to communicate on a plane. I hope. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this fic. It's just a lark.
> 
> Today's prompt was something from series 3. I chose the BEST scene in all of cabin pressure, the Tannoy at the airport in Uskerty.

Ransom and Holster should have known better.

If Ransom hadn't dipped to the hell zone of his panic spiral…

If Holster had been more awake…

Neither would have agreed to Lardo’s soda pong challenge.

“Don't be wussies. You can beat me with one hand tied behind your back.” Lardo had A Plan. It would be 'swawesome, but no way Holsom would agree unless they were drunk. And since this was a dry flight, she had come up with An Idea.

“What if we win?” Holster asked through a yawn. The dark cabin and the comfortable shoulder made for excellent napping.

Lardo shivered in revulsion as she said, “I'll scrub your bathroom.” The fear was real; she’d stepped one foot _one time_ into the attic bathroom. That was all it took.

Ransom narrowed his eyes as he tried to read her. “And if _you_ win?”

“I don't know yet,” she lied easily. “But it couldn't be as horrible as cleaning your bathroom.”

Both men nodded in thoughtful agreement.

~*~

They should have felt the trap snap around their necks.

~*~

At their best, Holsom were evenly matched with Lardo in pong. But edgy from too little sleep and too much caffeine, they weren't even a challenge. She whipped their asses. 

“Turns out, I _did_ have a plan.” Lardo grinned with Shitty by her side. 

She dragged them to the purser’s area and picked up the Tannoy microphone. “Gentlemen, can I have your attention please? This is the Airplane speaking. Listen to the Airplane. We bring you Samwell’s Dynamic Duo, Ransom and Holster."

The team cheered and cat-called their support.

“For your listening enjoyment tonight, they will be singing the best song in the world--"

“Not Disney princess not Disney princess…” Ransom chanted gripping Holster’s arm.

“From _Mulan_ \--”

Ransom groaned and doubled over while Holster held his stomach as he laughed until he couldn't breathe.

“I'll Make a Man Out Of You," Lardo shouted in triumph.

Even as he took the Tannoy's microphone from her, Ransom begged for _at least a different song._

“C’mon, bro. It’ll be fun,” Holster said, wrapping his arm around Ransom. “We’ll trade verses.”

Shitty chimed in. “And if you humiliate yourselves, it's only in front of us.”

Ransom glared at Shitty. “That does not make me feel better.”

“Y'all need to sing. You lost fair and square," Bitty egged them on.

The D-men had surprisingly good voices. By the time they reached the chorus, the entire team sang with them.

 

_“(Be a man)_  
_You must be swift as a coursing river_  
_(Be a man)_  
_With all the force of a great typhoon_  
_(Be a man)_  
_With all the strength of a raging fire_  
_Mysterious as the dark side of the moon…_  
_How could I make a man out of you.”_

 

They bowed deeply and accepted the applause. Then they both flipped off Lardo before returning to their seats.

Jack stood and whoopwhoop'd. “If y'all ever become captains, you have to sing that to the new tadpoles.”

His teammates went silent. 

And Jack’s face immediately turned red when he realized, without meaning to, he’d Seriously. Actually. Un-ironically said _y’all_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Of course, the song is I'll Make a Man Out Of You from Mulan.


	6. Code. Red.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur desperately wants to learn about hockey. Who better to ask than the team captain?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 500 words written to use one sentence. If you know Cabin Pressure, you'll know it when you see it. 
> 
> From Douz.
> 
> you'll be shocked to know this wasn't beta read O.o

Arthur approached the team’s captain with hesitation. When he’d tried to offer the captain and his friend soda, he’d probably, likely, _maybe_ interrupted something personal.

The next time, the captain couldn’t get Arthur’s name right.

If Arthur Shappey knew anything (and he _did_ once finish first in his class in his public school), it was that bad things happened in threes.

With a deep breath, he leaned down and said, “You’re the team captain.”

Jack popped straight up out of his seat. “What are you—I was—”

Arthur looked at the man who was red faced and breathing hard. “Oh. Were you sleeping? I may have spoken too loudly. I do that sometimes. Mum is always saying—”

Cranky and tired, Jack fell back into his chair, no longer interested in his nap. “What do you need?”

“I’m not familiar with ice hockey, and we don’t have any books. Could you teach me?”

Jack looked to Bitty for a way out, but Bitty just shrugged and bit back his smile. “Of course.”

“I’m afraid I don’t know much about sport outside of Dressage.” Arthur leaned closer and then checked over his shoulder to make sure no one else was listening. “Which is about making your horse do proper horse things, and has _nothing_ to do with dressing it up in fancy clothing.”

Bitty covered his mouth with his fingers and nodded. When he could speak without laughing he said, “In ice hockey, each side has six men—”

Arthur listened as if he were taking notes. “What about women?”

“What about women, what?”

“You said six men—”

“Women play but not on the same teams as men.” Jack explained because Arthur was honest-to-God serious.

Arthur considered that, then nodded that they should continue.

Bitty took a deep breath. “You need ice skates, a stick, and the puck.”

“The—what?” Arthur sounded scandalized. “Don’t let Mum hear you say that.”

Jack threw his hands up and turned to Bitty before saying, “ _Puh. Puh._ Puck.”

Arthur rolled his eyes slowly from left to right as he thought. With a smile of realization, Arthur said, “Ohhhhh. I thought you said _Fuh_ —”

“No.” Bitty and Jack cut him off. “Puck.”

“Yes. No. What’s the puck?”

“A hockey puck. I know no better way to describe it than hockey puck.” Jack couldn’t have been more serious; he couldn’t conceive of a world where someone didn’t know what a hockey puck was.

“Code Red, Arthur. Code. Red. Go away now, go away fast.” Carolyn hurried over to them, straightening her uniform jacket to present an upstanding image of MJN Air that might possibly erase any other impression Arthur had left.

“I’m so sorry about my son,” Carolyn apologized to the passengers. “He’s an idiot.”

“I know!” Arthur’s voice floated forward from the Galley. “That’s why I was revising, in case they wanted to talk about hockey.”

“But he’s my idiot.” With a sigh, Carolyn turned to Jack. “Mr. Zimmermann, I hope that, in the future, you’ll consider MJN Air for all of your private transportation needs.” She sighed again, telegraphing that she knew there wasn’t a chance in Hell.

To her shock, Jack beamed. “Mrs. Knapp-Shappey, I wouldn’t have anyone else. This has been the most entertaining flight I’ve ever been on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "I know no better way to describe it than fire truck."


	7. Words of One Sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carolyn is in the middle of a bet with Douglas: Can she speak in only words of one sound? Which blows Shitty's mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Words of One Sound game. 
> 
> Try it. It is very hard to do, worse than you would think it would be. 
> 
> From Wokingham. 
> 
> As a side note, you can't play Yellow Car while you're playing the words of one sound. :D We call them Sun Car.

“Are you fine?”

Shitty stared at the purser who defied all accepted stereotypes for flight attendants. _She was shorter than Lardo, and that was saying something. Although, he’d never say that to her. Lardo was ‘fun-sized.’ This woman looked like a grandmother—but when she spoke, she was more intimidating than the meanest mother-fuckin’ D-man he’d ever faced._

_Woah. Where did that shit all come from?_

“Can I smoke on this plane?” Shits asked as Lardo giggled.

“Not what _you_ smoke.” Carolyn raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I will ask once more. Are you fine?”

“Why do you sound like a robot?”

“Must you ask a why each time I ask if you need—if you want—are you fine?” Carolyn asked through gritted teeth.

“Oh Mum, are you and Douglas still playing the one-syllable word game?” Arthur handed Lardo the bottle of water she’d asked for.

Carolyn wagged her finger in Arthur’s face. “I will not lose to him. And I will not have you snitch on me or try to trip me up.”

Shitty stared as his mind slowly clicked into working mode. “So. You. Can. Only—shit. So. You. Must. Talk. In. Words. Of. One. Sound.”

Lardo giggled and ticked words off on her fingers as she spoke. “This. Seems. Like. Fun. I want to try.”

Carolyn smirked. “You can try, but you must take care. The man at the front of the plane is a shark. Do not let him talk you into a bet.” She left them to play between themselves. She had no idea who was a spy for Douglas.

“Mum is right. Douglas always wins. But Mum doesn’t give up easily.”

Shitty tried again, his cadence stilted as he counted and spoke. “Do. You. Play. The game with. Words. Of one sound?”

Arthur laughed and slapped Shitty’s back. “No, I’m perfectly dreadful at the game. I can’t get three words out.”

“Shits, we should try this at the Haus. If a guy speaks in words of more than one sound, he can’t have a slice of Bits pie.”  
“Don’t y’all drag me into this nonsense,” Bitty said, peeking between his seat and Jack’s. “Language is glorious and y’all have no right messing with it. You have no idea what could happen if y’all screw with the natural order of things.”

“Bits my bro. Words are fine and ( _glorious? No. beautiful. Really no. pretty? Aaaaagh._ ) good. I will not mess with it. Also—”

Lardo poked Shitty’s arm like a buzzer. “You said a word of more than one sound. You lose.”

Shitty groaned. “I want a rematch.”

“Not if you talk in words like that.” Lardo grinned wider.

“We start now!” Shitty pulled her into a headlock.

“Stop! Stop! I will not cave. You will go down.”

“How can a man nap if you two yell so loud?” Jack grumbled without opening his eyes.

“Cap, will you play with us?”

"Play what? You two are nuts." Jack stood up and stretched, the hem of his polo shirt riding up his stomach as he raised his arms over his head.

Bitty had been ready to speak in only one syllable words, but watching Jack’s abdomen peek out from under his shirt, his mind short-circuited. He only thought about tracing the lines of Jack’s abs with his tongue then kissing down the wispy dark stripe of hair that disappeared below his waist band until he reached—

“Aw, fuck.” He grabbed Jack’s hand and said, “You. Come with me.” As he pulled a very smiling Jack to the lavatory, he heard Lardo say, “Good job, Bits. You said it was not a skill you could do.”

 _Fuck words of one sound_ , Bitty thought. _I need one on one time with Jack. Now._


	8. Mile High Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bitty had dragged Jack into the tiny lav.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg, this fic. 
> 
> The prompt was: “Oh, hang on, I’ve just realised: I don’t care.”  
> Which has words of more than one syllable.

Bitty squeezed into the lavatory, pressing against Jack so he could close and lock the door.

“Raise your arms over your head again.”

Jack looked at Bitty like he’d lost his mind, but did as he told. When Jack’s shirt rode up, Bitty whimpered and kissed him fiercely, without finesse. It was needy and filthy, and Bitty’s mouth on Jack’s said everything he would do, without ever saying a word.

Still kissing, Bitty deftly unbuttoned Jack’s jeans and edged the zipper down. He dragged the jeans and briefs down, carefully pulling them away so he wouldn’t scrape the rough fabric across the head of Jack’s fully-hard cock.

“Lord, I wish there were more room.” Bitty wrapped his fist around Jack’s length and dragged it up to the crown and back to the base.

_**Bam!** _

_**Bam!** _

_**Bam!** _

Bitty jumped as a fist banged on the lav door; Jack hurriedly pulled his underwear and trousers back up.

“I know why you two are in there.”

“It’s that lady who talks funny,” Jack whispered in Bitty’s ear.

Jack’s warm breath tickled Bitty, reminded him of the last time they were in private—

“Occupied,” Bitty called through the door, hoping she’d freakin leave.

“Oh, my bad,” she said sarcastically. “Oh hang on. I just thought once more—I don’t care. Come out now.”

Bitty’s frustrated whine was the only thing she heard.

“The Mile High Club is a myth,” the flight attendant banged her fist on the door. “Well, not a myth, as I well know, but it is not good. Well, it is much good. But it is a no go.”

“Why do you talk like that?” Jack asked through the door. “You sound odd.”

“Were you not there when we spoke of the _words of one sound_ game? You talk in words of one sound.”

“No, I don’t.”

Carolyn laughed. “Yes you do. Is that the way you talk all the time?”

“This is how I talk. Don’t poke fun at me.” Jack huffed in frustration. He looked to Bitty for sympathy, but Bitty had turned away from him. “Are you ok?”

Bitty turned around, his eyes glazed with tears as he held back his laughter. “She’s right. You do talk in words of one sound.”

“No. I don’t.” Jack snapped, but then replayed everything he’d said. “Oh my God, you’re right.”

Carolyn heard their giggles and she banged on the door again. “I know I’m right. Now get out here.”

Jack and Bitty tumbled out of the lav, laughing and crying. Bitty closed the door with as much dignity as he could muster with tears on his cheeks.

Before he returned to his seat, he narrowed his eyes and looked at Carolyn. “Mood killer.”

A smile broke across Carolyn’s face. She was happy they picked up this last minute booking. These boys were so much better than Mr. Burling. Or taking a stag-do to Rome.


	9. You High Sticked His Heart

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They land without problem in Tampa so the boys can make their way to the Frozen Four.  
> Carolyn knows the deal. She always does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: Toblerone. Of course. 
> 
> Carolyn's limerick was shamelessly stolen from Limerick. Please note the masterful use of the passive voice. 
> 
> TY TY TY for hanging out and enjoying this crack.

The Samwell Men’s Ice Hockey team returned to their seats. They’d stowed their red Solo cups and ping pong balls, their text books, and had returned all borrowed blankets.

Carolyn stood at the front of the cabin to address her passengers. Her tie was askew, she’d long since lost her jacket, and if anyone came within two feet, they’d guess she’d dipped into her secret stash of Talisker—likely over the pong challenge.

“Gentlemen and Lady, thank you for flying MJN Air. We hope that you’ve enjoyed yourselves on this flight. _Some_ of you enjoyed yourselves more than others.” She stared directly at Bitty and Jack, who both had the grace to blush.

“As you may have noticed, I am no longer speaking in words of one syllable. I have beaten our co-pilot, Douglas Richardson. As my prize, he will present to you a limerick on my son’s favorite subject. Mr. Richardson?”

Carolyn grinned like a Disney shark as she finished her speech.

The Tannoy crackled with static.

_The purser checked the time in the zone_   
_From his mobile his mother had loaned_   
_He borrowed her card_   
_When she was off guard_   
_And bought a tall stack of Toblerone._

 

Carolyn picked up the intercom phone. “Douglas—” she warned.

The Tannoy crackled again.

“Carolyn Knapp-Shappey is better at _that game_ than I am, and that is why she won.”

She grinned when he clicked off. "And now, a limerick of my own:

_The captain has turned on the signs,_   
_So stow away bags of all kinds._   
_Then make sure your tray_   
_Is folded away_   
_And your seat back no longer reclines."_

_  
_

The hockey team cheered for her poetry. She might actually miss these boys.

Carolyn and Arthur stood at the doorway to bid each passenger good bye and good luck.

“You, young man and young lady. Smoke less. Study more.” Carolyn wagged her finger at Shitty and Lardo, then hugged them at once.

“Thank yourself for flying with myself tonight on our flight.” Arthur smiled, unfazed by the confused looks he received.

“You two, don’t quit your day jobs.” With a smile, Carolyn shook Ransom and Holsters’ hands.

“Thank yourselves for flying with myself tonight on our flight.” Arthur smiled, still unperturbed.

“Come fly with us, come fly, let’s fly away—” the two D-men crooned as they disembarked.

Bitty and Jack held back; when everyone had left the plane, they grabbed their carry-ons and moved to the doorway. Jack had elected Bitty spokesman. “Ma’am, bless our hearts, we’d like to apologize—”  


She smiled at the two Attempted-Mile-High-ers. “Not necessary. I was young once.”

“That's true. But it was a long time ago.” Arthur said in support of his Mum.

“Arthur—”

“I know. Shutting up.” Arthur left them to Hoover the plane.

Carolyn shook her head as she smiled at Jack and Bitty. “I was young and in love once.”

Jack’s face shifted to a blank stare and Bitty stuttered out a denial, but Carolyn cut them off. “Don’t even bother denying it. I have eyes, even if your foolish teammates don’t.” She turned to Jack. “When he smiles at you, you look like he high-sticked your heart. And you,” she said, looking at Bitty. “You’re no better.”

Bitty and Jack blushed as they avoided each other’s gaze.

Carolyn looked out the plane’s door at the team bus idling on the tarmac. “They’re waiting for you. Good luck at the Frozen Four.”

And Carolyn held out her fist, and the boys fist-bumped her. “Go. Get off of My Jet Now.”

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a song by The Dinks, "You High Sticked My Heart."


End file.
